


Pitching Tents: A prompt fill.

by JackandHoney



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:05:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2079678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackandHoney/pseuds/JackandHoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock Holmes had suggested (or demanded...) that John, Mary and Molly come to the Lake District to save him from boredom on their Holiday from Uni, he didn't exactly expect... <br/>Well. Not that he minded. </p><p>(pwalittlep)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pitching Tents: A prompt fill.

__________________________________________________________

“Do you ken John Peel at the break of day? Do ye ken John Peel when he’s far away?” a perfectly happy Molly Hooper and Mary Morstan sang as they walked arm in arm up the beach towards the campsite where they had dumped their kits when they’d arrived earlier that morning. 

A rare chuckle came from Sherlock’s throat as he walked, barefoot by John’s side, a bottle of Scotch passing easily between the two of them.

The sun was setting over Piel Island, the air starting to cool from the warm and blustery day spent sporting and swimming about the beach.   
It was one week until term started for the four; one week until it was back to Oxford and back to books and learning.   
Or, “Stress.” as Molly proclaimed it. 

Three days previous, Sherlock had informed his best friend John, his girlfriend Mary (whom Sherlock was actually quite fond of, in a comradery sort of way.) and her friend Molly (whom Sherlock was secretly fond of, and not in the same way that he was fond of Mary) that they were all to be going to The Lake District, as if he was going to be trapped there with his parents and brother, the least they could do was come to distract him. (Lest he cause something to spontaneously combust) 

“I’ll help you with yours once we’re done.” Mary called to Molly as she and John started work on their tent. Molly shook her head though, as Sherlock reached down into his bag for a cigarette. (Which caused Molly to give him a short look. Not that he saw of course.) 

“No. It’s fine.” Molly told Mary happily, her brown hair in a wet pile over her head as she shook out her tent. “It only takes a moment. It’s really very easy.” Mary shrugged and John wrestled with a pole as Sherlock looked up from the pile of belongings.   
“Where’s mine?” he asked, standing up with a confused look on his face, the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. 

“What do you mean where’s yours? Didn’t you bring one?” John asked, giving the pole to Mary, who obviously had a better idea of what went where.

“No. Of course not. I told you to.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, his face looking very put out. 

“No you didn’t.” John shook his head. “You just said we were probably going to go camping and to bring stuff.” John squinted at the young man, who had plopped down rather forlornly with his bottle of Scotch as Molly’s bottom wiggled outside of the little pink single tent. 

“Yes. Get stuff. Stuff for us. Isn’t it obvious?” Sherlock asked, crossing his eyes as he peered at the Scotch bottle and the cigarette in his hand, before trying to drink/smoke from the two at the same time.   
(And then cursing as the liquid touched the end of the cigarette and caused a flash of light.)

“No. Nope. Not obvious. Didn’t your parents say you used to come camping here all the time?” John asked, helping Mary (Who was perfectly amused by this conversation) pull the canvas over the poles. 

“Yes. When I was like. Twelve. I’ve grown approximately two and a half feet since then.” Sherlock snapped. “The sleeping bag would not have fit.” 

“Why don’t you just share?” Mary asked, handing John a tent stake to stomp into the soft ground as Sherlock took another light sip, before deciding that was probably enough. 

“And be next to you two bumping and… jumping all night? No thank you!” Sherlock shook his head violently, his face looking thoroughly disgusted and his shoulders shuddering.   
A giggle behind him broke his attention from his staring contest with John.

“What?” He asked Molly, not quite liking being giggled at. (No matter how bloody cute she looked doing so) “Not with them.” She rolled her eyes, as John helped Mary shove the two person sleeping bag into the tent, followed by a set of pillows.

“With me.” She rolled her eyes, plopping down next to him and snatching up the bottle of Scotch.   
“Which you are welcome to.” She took a drink, before tipping her head. “Though, I get the pillow.” She nodded with a happy grin.   
All Sherlock could do was swallow and furrow his brow further. Molly didn’t seem to pay any mind.

_________________________________________________________

“Night.” John called out, later that evening as Mary giggled happily and his mouth found the underside of her ear.   
“Least they could do is wait until the zipper was properly closed.“ Molly snickered as she stood up to put out the camp fire.   
“Ah. But that would denote common decency.” Sherlock commented, standing up and scratching at his hair that had dried in every which direction, making his hair look properly mussed.   
Molly giggled, which caused Sherlock to feel a rumble of pride in his chest. (Which he promptly shoved away) 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom before bed.” Molly commented with a gesture towards the tall grass where they’d dug their latrine some ways off. 

“Scream if you’re in danger.” Sherlock commented in a droll voice.  
“Mmm.. Thanks.” She commented, before looking about the island that had four, maybe five people on it year round. 

Sherlock nodded stiffly, as if this pained him greatly before toeing off his shoes and tossing them into his pack. It was doubtful anyone would steal them, but if anyone tried he’d wake. 

Having used the ‘bathroom’ twenty minutes earlier, Sherlock looked at the small single person tent and frowned, before Sucking in a deep breath, summoning his courage (Which was slightly easier with the alcohol in his system.) he ducked into the tent and frowned, looking at the small space.   
It somehow seemed smaller on the inside, than it had on the outside.   
He shook himself, stiff upper lip, all that. 

He looked down at the tent as words flew by him as he looked at the green camo sleeping bag and the flowery pink pillow. 

Pillow case: Six years old, handmade, silky inside, (comfort item.) most likely smells like her hair. 

Sleeping bag: Three years old, used twice since then, belongs to her father, good to six degrees celsius.

It would do.   
But damnit, he wasn’t wearing his (still damp) clothes to bed. She would just have to deal with him in his pants. (At least he gave her that amount of coverage. If he had his own sleeping bag, he wouldn’t be wearing anything.)   
He slid into the sleeping bag after dumping his clothes in the corner of the tent and sighed as his head hit the pillow.   
He was more tired than he thought. (His relaxed state, of course, had nothing to do with the light lemon bar scent that clung to the pillow under his head. )   
Sinking into his Mind Manor (As it wasn’t built up to a palace yet, and he couldn’t stand the idea of calling it something it wasn’t) he let the day be categorized and settle into each place as he heard Molly come into the tent and kick off her own shoes and change out of her shirt.   
“Uhm. I thought we agreed I got the pillow?” She asked him, pulling the pillow out from under his head as she settled on her side like him, facing the same direction. 

“Mmm..” Nope.” He rolled his eyes, snatching up the pillow, tucking it under his head before sticking his arm under her head. 

She squeaked when she settled back against him in the small space, realizing that her bare feet touched bare skin (all the way up) (Well. Not that far up.) “Are you not wearing clothes?” She asked him, voice shaking a bit. 

“Hmm. No.” He shook his head. “I have pants.” He told her, shifting her head backwards so it wasn’t settled on his elbow.   
She huffed, settling down.

“Besides. We’ll be warmer.” She rolled her eyes and huffed again, curling up as tight as she could as Sherlock allowed himself to slip deeper into sleep. 

____________________________________________________________

When Sherlock woke the next early the next morning it was to a perfectly warm body in his arms, a lemon bar smelling head of hair under his chin and a perfectly soft bum pressed into the raging erection he was currently sporting. 

What was left of sleep vanished from his mind when the body twitched in his arms and so did his cock.   
Shit,he thought, opening his eyes and trying to move backwards away from her, only to find that his legs had wound themselves up in hers, her hand was clasped over his arm and that at the sleeping bag wasn’t big enough to do so. 

Shit.   
Shit.   
This was not good.   
This was perfectly and wonderfully very not good.  
And she smelled nice. Like…powdered sugar dusted lemon bars and dusty books  
The kind is God Mum used to make and stash in the fridge, serve with lemon tea while he read from the shelf.  
Shit.   
God her bum felt lovely. If only he could just…  
NO!  
No. Think.   
What to think about? Must think about something.   
Mycroft. Mycroft bathing in cake. Mycroft wanking off with a cake.   
Mycroft wanking into a cake and then eating it.   
Gives new meaning to ‘have your cake and eat it too’

Holy shit. Was his hand always on her breast? (Breast? Tit? Boob? What did one call it when it was accidentally placed upon such a lovely… warm … fits perfectly in your hand bit of flesh… He had always thought them there just for child rearing reasons, but oh… it was lovely)

Did she just kiss his arm? No. Of course not. She just snuffled and pressed closer…   
Shit. Fuck. Damnit. Bollocks. Wanker.   
Damnit. His bollocks. They were turning blue. He could feel it. He could literally feel them turning blue. And cold. Was that normal? Cold blue balls? God. He just wanted to shove his cock – Or wank.   
He could just wank. Could he wank without waking her? 

She snuffled again. 

No. That wouldn’t work. What would he do with the mess? Put it into her sweet, lemony smelling pillow? No. Heresy! The very idea was wrong.   
Besides. That was creepy. He didn’t want to be creepy. Creepy was bad.   
Molly was morbid, so was he. Morbid was okay.  
But wanking behind a sleeping girl was weird and creepy.

He was thinking over ways to untangle himself from her arms and sneak off for a bit of cold water without waking her, when she heard her small voice speak his name with a question on the end. 

Fuck. 

____________________________________________________________

When Molly woke it was to the vision of Sherlock’s hand fisted, his legs tangled up with hers and a very prominent pulsing near her bum.   
“Sherlock?” she asked him quietly, knowing perfectly well what the lump was and knowing he was perfectly awake by his body instantly stiffening at her question.   
Oh he was awake alright. And he was perfectly aware of his current situation judging by the low ‘fuck’ that left his throat. (Which she thought very funny, as he almost never cursed. Considering it ‘above his intellect.’ That was more John’s area.) 

“Problem, Sherlock?” she asked him, smiling against his very warm arm.   
She’d liked sleeping with him. He’d been a bit clingy in the night, but he kept the cold off of her and his arm was very comfortable. She couldn’t bring herself to feel irritated at the natural male reaction to the bum pressed up against her. Besides. It was flattering. And it did feel very nice, causing a hot bit of tension to pull through her groin. 

There was an intake of breath, and then a firm shaking of his head behind her.   
Oh. Poor thing. He was embarrassed. Probably imaging his Mother naked, Or Mycroft, or saying the periodic table backwards. (Not that it was helping)   
She smiled a bit before reaching into her bag across from her, having thought on it a moment before making up her mind. 

“There’s really no need to be embarrassed, Sherlock.” She told him after snapping the bottle of lotion closed, her body turning around to face his really rather red face.   
His eyes were pinched shut and his mouth was screwed up.   
Oh it was cute. 

He mumbled something about ‘stupid bodily functions’ as well as a half mouthed apology that she quickly cut off with the hand that had snuck down and cupped over the rather large bulge in his pants.   
His eyes snapped open, his throat whining before his eyes focused on hers. 

“What- What’re you?” he croaked, looking utterly shocked as her hand slipped into his pants and wrapped around the hot and hard cock. His face was really very red, his eyes fluttering on his cheeks. 

As much as she’d thought. He’d never been wanked off before.   
His bumbling and grasping or words was really very adorable. She wanted to kiss them right off those beautiful lips. 

“Taking care of the problem.” She shrugged, cheeks pink, grinning a bit as she slid her slick hand upwards. 

He gasped, the protest leaving his mouth as his hand curled to tangle in her hair and his hips lifting into her hand. “Oh.” He gasped, causing Molly to beam.  
There was something so… well wonderful about getting a man off. It had always made her feel powerful. That even if she didn’t want to put out, (She would have, with Sherlock. As she’d always fancied him and she trusted him. But she didn’t have a condom, and it wasn’t worth walking over to ask for one from Mary) she could still make the breath hitch in his chest and his cock twitch in his hand. 

“That’s it…” she murmured encouragingly, daring to lean forward and brush her lips against his. She’d always wanted to do that.

________________________________________________

Sweet. Mother. Fucking. Mercy. Her hand. Her little pretty boney hand was wrapped around him and his balls were tightening.   
It felt. Oh. Oh. Shit. Shit Shit. Why did she kiss him? Why would he do that?   
Why was he kissing back? 

Well. That was stupid. He’d wanted to kiss her lovely pretty little mouth since the first time he’d seen her. And she was a lovely kisser, and his hand felt perfect in her hair and shit, her hand. Her lovely little hand. The way her thumb did that swirly thing over the head of his cock, then slid down to cup at his bollocks. 

He groaned into her mouth, feeling her other hand on his arm and her hand moving quicker and quicker, as if she knew exactly how to work him, as if he were a piano her pretty little fingers liked to play.   
Fire was licking up his spine and his abdomen was cramping and -

Shit…. 

____________________________________________________________

Oh. His orgasm face was lovely.   
It was all tipped chins and shining cheekbones, as though there wasn’t a single thing on that constantly busy mind of his.   
His hand had slid from her hair to his face, cupping nearly her entire head.   
It made her smile, made her kiss his open mouth as he panted and his eyes slid closed. 

'Thank...' he mouthed, as she pulled her hand away from him and reached back towards the facecloth she’d pulled out of her bag when she’d gotten the lotion.   
“Of course.” She snickered, cleaning up her hand and arm before tossing it away and standing up. 

“I’m gonna go start breakfast.” She told him, bending over to kiss him again.   
But he was nearly gone, almost lost in a blissful sort of nothing. 

“Next time I’ll…” Molly giggled at his whisper, very much liking the idea of a next time. 

“Why do you look so chuffed?” Mary asked when Molly stood up out of her tent, finding the blonde already building up the fire. “Sherlock not up yet?” 

“No. I put him back to sleep.” Molly said with a smirk as she bent down to wash her hands in the bucket of cold water. 

Mary snorted so very hard that Molly was quite sure that she’d inhaled a tonsil. 

fin- 

(for now)


End file.
